


Two (or Three) Mutant Freaks and the Adolescent Melodrama

by Rockinlibrarian



Series: The Childhood Friends AU [2]
Category: Legion (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - High School, Asexuality, Friendship, It's definitely no worse than a YA novel, Multi, Panromantic, Sex Talk, Sexual Identity, So Blame Oliver, and is all Oliver talking too much anyway, but no onscreen sex, dangit oliver there is so much sex in these tags, it's all oliver's fault, romantic vs sexual attraction, the only reason it's Creator Chose Not to Use Warnings is I'm not sure how Underage works, this is tame but is definitely way more sex talk than I usually write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29989143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockinlibrarian/pseuds/Rockinlibrarian
Summary: Having a psychic horndog for a best friend can really complicate a poor guy's sexual awakening (or lack thereof).You know, in a normal universe where they clearly didn't know each other yet as teenagers, this all would have been a lot less awkward.Maybe not that much less. I did write that one already.
Relationships: Oliver Bird/Cary Loudermilk
Series: The Childhood Friends AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205846
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Two (or Three) Mutant Freaks and the Adolescent Melodrama

**Author's Note:**

> There are deliberate callbacks here to my Loudermilk backstory fic (which theoretically takes place in Universe Prime) "The Social Experiment," because that is what WOULD have been happening at this time if Oliver hadn't up and moved to America a decade or so too early. Writing this was...interesting...as I am clearly of Cary's opinion, but Oliver's got to Oliver. That said, Cary seems a whole lot happier as a teenager in this universe, generally...the moments of angst are just that much bigger.

Oliver pursued every new thing he attempted with enthusiasm. And he attempted almost everything. He stayed away from sports, and anything that might get his impeccable outfits dirty, but otherwise there didn’t seem to be a single elective or extracurricular he didn’t show up for and subsequently dominate. And within each activity he pursued one aspect most ardently: _girls_.

He serenaded in the choral groups. He read love poetry in the lit club and forensic league contests (granted, he’d _originally_ gotten into poetry in order to impress girls, but he eventually grew so obsessed with the Beat Generation he almost forgot why he’d started). He sketched beautiful women with curious resemblances to his classmates in art. He nearly always took the romantic lead in drama club productions, and when he didn’t he somehow still managed to steal the show, the hearts of the audience, and the actual lead’s girlfriend.

He'd started reading men’s fashion magazines in junior high, and styling himself accordingly. He experimented with colognes and facial hair, and systematically taught himself to swagger. Early on he’d even practiced flirty looks in the mirror, entreating his best friend’s sister for her “honest opinion as a girl: does this wink make you want to throw yourself at me?” a few times—to be answered every time with, “It makes me want to throw my fist in your face,” so he gave that up eventually (which was just as well, as she was not a girl he actually _wanted_ to flirt with for several important reasons).

But he hadn’t needed to _practice_ anything for the past year or so at least. He was officially the resident Casanova of Hawley Senior High.

Sure, he never seemed to go steady, but he had a way of flirting that made each girl he flirted with feel specifically and intimately _seen_ , as if he was reading their mind, and even a moment or two of his attention was enough to covet. The boys tried in vain to crack the code: he had an accent, which right off the bat gave him an unfair advantage—why did an accent automatically made a boy more alluring? He had thick dark hair, sharp sartorial tastes, and a teasing expression, like some kind of movie star. And sure, he was smart and talented, but he was short, and stocky, and…and, well, he was _Oliver Bird_ , well-established _weirdo_. Had everyone forgotten that?

No one had ever quite figured out what to make of Oliver Bird since the day he’d shown up six years ago from the far side of the world, bounding with energy and talking nonstop. He’d immediately befriended the class pariah: nerdy, wussy, scandal-born Cary Loudermilk. But if anyone thought that would make Oliver another target of scorn, Oliver was quick to correct them. He talked his way out of every potential bullying encounter before the bullies knew what was happening, often embarrassing them with artfully timed reveals of secrets he knew, or setting assailants against each other with well-chosen suggestions. His classmates couldn’t help but feel impressed, albeit bewildered.

But to this day, no matter how many cliques and clubs he flittered among, Oliver always ate lunch with Cary, just the two of them away from the crowds (though sometimes, inexplicably, they were joined by a small girl who clearly didn’t belong at the high school at all). Whatever they talked about, it must have involved long words, because Oliver seemed to find simple words boring and Cary just didn’t seem to know any words that weren’t scientific. Their classmates were happy to leave them to it.

This wasn’t too far from the truth. Both boys had brains that ran too fast, and they’d never met anyone else who could keep up with them (though Oliver’s thoughts tended to flow nonstop from his mouth and Cary’s tended to get stuck or lost on the way to his tongue). They not only understood each other’s complex ideas, they built off of them and inspired each other. This would have been more than enough to base a solid friendship on.

But there was much more to it than that. They were bound by secrets, secrets they couldn’t share with anyone, but had somehow shared with each other from the start. Only Oliver knew the true identity of the little girl who frequently hung out with them: she was Cary’s semi-conjoined twin, Kerry, who spent most of her time seamlessly merged with Cary’s body and only seemed to mature while she was out on her own (hence why she appeared to be ten years old). And only Cary (and Kerry) knew the real reason Oliver knew so many secrets about their classmates: he had ESP.

“And I don’t think it’s really fair,” Cary scolded him, “you using their private thoughts to get girls to go out with you. You’re…taking advantage.”

“I’m using the information available to me, and giving them what they want,” Oliver protested. “I can’t help what I overhear. It’s not like I’m reading their diaries, or peeping in their bedroom windows. I’m not intentionally intruding.”

He had a point. Cary knew how much it bothered Oliver to have no control over his sixth sense, over the barrage of random information poking his brain, most of it useless and some of it downright disturbing. He supposed it was only reasonable that Oliver tried to make the best of it.

“I’m not out breaking hearts, either,” Oliver continued. “If I get the slightest impression she’s harboring ideas about true love or even exclusivity, I leave her be. There are plenty enough ladies up for a quick blow in the janitor’s closet. Or better yet, mutual oral satisfaction, splayed out under the risers in the choral room, just before dismissal.”

_That’s just WRONG,_ Kerry piped up inside Cary’s head. She’d chosen not to manifest physically for lunch today, but that didn’t keep her from listening in.

“Kerry says ‘That’s just wrong’,” Cary relayed.

“Well this conversation isn’t for a ten-year-old’s ears.”

_I’m not ten!_

“You can probably guess her response.”

“Oh, she looks ten, she acts ten, she is ten, enough said.”

_You look like a butthead, you act like a butthead—_

“Kerry would like to inform you that you are, and I quote, a butthead.”

“But that’s just what I’m saying! The juxtaposition of butts and heads is an underrated experience! The finest chef in the world can’t surpass the exquisite taste of a woman’s most intimate parts.”

“Kerry says that’s disgusting.”

_I didn’t! It IS, but I didn’t SAY so._

“She’ll understand when she’s older.”

Cary wondered how much older. Whatever age it was, he hadn’t reached it, yet, either.

One Tuesday after school, while the boys tinkered with the radio transmitter they were building out of junk they’d salvaged from the dump, and Kerry stood at the edge of the yard throwing knives at a hanging target dummy, Oliver announced, “I’m taking the plunge. I no longer need to limit myself to stolen trysts behind the auditorium curtains. Moira Johansson _wants_ me most thoroughly, so I’m taking her on a proper date this weekend.”

“A proper date?” Cary barely looked up from the transmitter, but his eyebrows went a little higher. “A movie? A nice dinner?”

“No, nothing so pasteurized and virginal as that. By ‘date’ I mean: not _just_ sex.” He paused. “But still, sex. Mostly sex, in fact. A whole long evening of passionate lovemaking. I’m curious how many times I can manage in one night.”

Cary grimaced. “Is this really a conversation we need to be having right now?”

“Oh, the pipsqueak isn’t even listening.” He shrugged toward the corner of the yard. A knife slashed right through the dummy and burrowed into the tree behind. Kerry turned to glare at Oliver.

“Th-that was imprudent,” Cary congratulated Oliver, smothering a smile. “But no, I mean… _I_ don’t really care to hear the details of your, your…sexual exploits, either.”

“That’s not what I want to run by you! I’m trying to piece together the details of the night _itself_.” Oliver conducted to his imagination with a screwdriver. “The… _ambiance_ of the occasion. And I thought you might appreciate what I’m thinking. I was thinking, we’ll grab some blankets and a basket of particularly _juicy_ berries, and head on up to the observatory tower.”

Cary froze up. “Th-the observatory tower?” He and Oliver and Kerry had spent many a summer evening at that observatory tower, lying in the grass to watch the stars, talking about the universe late into the night.

“Yes, why not? It’s perfect! Romantic starlight, all the possibility of the cosmos spread out before you, dark, remote—puts anyone in the mood, doesn’t it?”

Something caustic stirred in Cary’s stomach. “Yes, it’s…it’s perfect.” And that was exactly why not.

“I wonder if I can sneak a bottle of—” Oliver broke off, listening. “Cary!” He looked stunned. “You’re jealous!”

Jealous? Oliver was talking about desecrating _their_ observatory tower with some… _wanton harlot_ , and he thought he was _jealous_? “Wh-why would you think that?”

“Because I read it in your mind, _and_ on your face!” Oliver slammed down the screwdriver and circled the table to stand right in front of him. “You’re a terrible liar, Cary, and you always have been. It’s a wonder I didn’t notice it sooner.”

“Notice what?” Cary shrank away from Oliver.

“Nope, nope, we’re not going to play those games.” Oliver crossed his arms and stared hard at Cary. “Just tell me honestly: do you, or do you not, have a crush on me?”

Cary was speechless. After awhile a half-silent “Wha—?” slipped out.

“Come now. You can be straight with me, pardon the expression. You’re my best friend no matter what you answer. And it’s not like everyone didn’t already know you leaned that way—”

“What way?” Cary tried to resume his wiring, but Oliver planted his arm between him and the transmitter and got up in his face.

“Oh you know very well. You haven’t heard the names people have been calling you for the past who-knows-how-many years? You give it off, an aura, of…” he struggled for the word, “… _femininity_.”

“That’s just me,” Kerry hollered from the target dummy, which she was now attempting to kick into submission. “I’m the girl, he’s the boy.”

Oliver glanced at her, then shrugged. “I mean obviously it’s not so black and white as people suppose,” he continued. “ _I’ve_ heard what you’re thinking every time Hannah Bailey reads aloud in class.”

This was such an unexpected turn that Cary wasn’t sure which insinuation to feel more indignant about.

“But if you’re harboring anything for _me_ , best to get it out in the open! I can’t have it silently eating away at you every time we’re together.”

“There is nothing…eating at me!” He backed up again and focused on getting his breathing under…well, getting it to calm _down_ at…he _couldn’t_ get it to…

“I’m not offended if there is. You’re like Ginsberg, and I am your Cassady. You know how I feel about girls, but if you’d like, I’m not even against trying—” Oliver put a hand on his arm.

“No!” Cary pushed Oliver away. His chest had suddenly gone tight.

“Well, just say so, no need to flip out.”

“I—I can’t talk, I can’t talk right n—.” He pushed inside and to his room, to the dresser where he was pretty sure he’d left his inhaler. It had been ages since he’d had an asthma attack. The doctor said it was stress-related more than anything, a panic response. He might even outgrow it, if he could learn to stop panicking. Right. Thanks, doc.

He collapsed on the bed, pushed his glasses out of the way with his arm and left it there over his eyes. He didn’t even notice Kerry slipping in. _You okay?_

“Do I _seem_ okay to you?” he muttered without moving.

_No._ A pause. _You want to talk?_

“No.”

_‘Kay._ There was blessed silence for a minute or two. Then:

_What ARE you thinking every time Hannah Bailey reads aloud? I know what you’re FEELING: you get all warm all of a sudden, and your heart starts beating really fast, and—_

“Kerry please shut up.”

_‘Kay._

* * *

Oliver had never wished his sixth sense would work on command as much as he did when his best friend stopped speaking to him. It would have been much more efficient than relying on the intercession of an effectively ten-year-old girl.

“He says he still can’t talk to you,” she called as she ran back to him on the walk to school. Oliver usually stopped to collect the Loudermilks on his way, but today they’d left before he got there. He could just barely see Cary striding ahead far down the street.

“Can’t or won’t?”

Kerry shrugged. “It’s the same thing with him. His tongue swells up, like?”

“Just tell him—I’m not angry with him! Or repulsed or mocking or…whatever it is he’s afraid of!”

“I can _tell_ him that,” Kerry said, but in a way that implied she thought it wouldn’t do much good. “See you,” and she rushed off again.

Oliver wanted to understand, but he didn’t. It was _science_. It was how bodies worked. When he’d started having feelings about girls, there seemed no reason not to be frank about it. It was all just chemicals.

Maybe it was different for a boy who liked other boys. Maybe he’d be more afraid about what people would say. But people _already_ said those things about Cary, and he wouldn’t be telling _them_ , anyway. He’d be telling _Oliver_. Oliver, who _understood_ it was all just chemicals. Who had _chosen_ Cary to be his first and closest friend in America, in _spite_ of what the other kids thought. Who shared secrets that went far deeper than who was attracted to whom, secrets that rocked the very foundation of what it meant to be _human_. _Oliver_ , his fellow mutant freak.

Cary avoided him all day. He showed up just long enough in home room to get a pass out of it. He arrived at fourth period Calculus at the very last minute and cut out again the moment class finished. He must have even changed the routes he took in the hall to avoid passing Oliver. Surely, though, they’d have to talk at lunch. Lunchtime was _their_ time.

Oliver sat at their usual table in the cafeteria and waved when Cary entered the room. Cary looked directly at him, and turned away, taking a seat at a far table and not looking up again. Oliver could see him muttering under his breath, talking something over with Kerry in their currently-shared skull. _Tell me tell me tell me. Stupid, useless ESP._ All he could pick up was gossip from people he didn’t know, endless recitations of the Bill of Rights for a test in next period Civics, and some highly detailed critiques of the school lunch. Nothing from his two best friends actively talking to themself.

But it looked like he might get the news the old-fashioned way. Kerry plunked into the seat across from him and said, “Sorry, he still doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Oliver sighed and rubbed his temples. “There’s nothing for him to be afraid of! I’m not going to suddenly turn against him if he’s honest with me. I’m even—I’m even willing to” he lowered his voice “… _experiment_. For him.”

Kerry made a face. “I don’t think that’s what’s—”

“Is he worried I don’t understand how male lovers work? The Beat Poets are all in love with each other and they aren’t shy about going into detail.”

“Not everyone likes talking about your weird body-mashing stuff as much as you and your Beat Poets, you know.”

The grimace coming off that small, pointed face made him blink. As much as he teased her about the ever-growing apparent age gap between them, they’d all been the _same_ age when he'd first met Kerry. And maybe he’d taken for granted that she’d always been around, the rough-and-tumble foil to Cary’s gentle earnestness, and maybe growing up with someone had kept him from really understanding that she _hadn’t_ grown up. This was an awkward conversation to have with a pigtailed girl whose feet didn’t reach the cafeteria floor.

He was going to regret asking, but it had to be done. “Please don’t take offense.” The offense clouded her face already. “But do you think part of the problem could be that he’s not comfortable discussing such sensitive matters around you?” Why was he still talking? “Because you’re still a little girl?”

“Please don’t take offense, but do you want me to throttle you?”

At least she asked first. “I’d rather you not, no. I just want to be sure we’ve considered every possible variable.”

“We share a _body_ ,” she emphasized. “We don’t _have_ secrets from each other.”

“Still, do you think you could suggest it to him? You staying…out of the way for a bit while he and I talk alone? Just in case? Don’t give me that look, it’s just a suggestion.”

“I guess I can _ask_ him.” She pushed away from the table and stomped back toward Cary.

Oliver watched her roll her eyes as she spoke to him, and then the emphatic way he shook his head and said what was clearly “No,” several times. Didn’t need psychic powers for that one.

But then he caught a wave of emotion—just feeling, no words—but definitely coming from Cary. Panic, frustration, confusion. Confusion? What was he so confused about?

Kerry returned. “Told ya so.”

Oliver was still blinking over that wave of confusion, now just as much his own as Cary’s. “Well then, keep on him,” he suggested finally. “See if _you_ can get him to explain himself. We can’t just stop talking forever.”

* * *

Cary spent the day solving trigonometric equations in his head. Orderly. Clear-cut correct answers. Nice smooth mental parabolas. No room for any other thoughts.

_So we’ve got to talk about this thing with Oliver,_ Kerry broke in when they were halfway home _._

The nausea came back. “We’ve _got_ to?”

_Yes, because you guys have been really WEIRD today. We can’t keep doing that! It’s BORING when we don’t spend lunch together._

He shook his head, and spoke slowly, forcing the words into place. “But I just…I just can’t talk to him right now. It’s too, it’s too… _much_.”

_So, you DO then._

“Do what?”

_Have a crush on him._

Cary took a deep breath. “I. DON’T. KNOW. Okay?”

Kerry didn’t respond for a while. Then, tentatively, _…okay?_

“That’s why I can’t talk to him. He wants me to give him a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ but I don’t…I don’t _have_ that. I know I’m not… _normal_ about these things; I don’t know if I’m like people say, but the way Oliver talks about girls, I just…I just don’t _get it_.” He stopped, thought for a moment, started walking again. “Then again, maybe _he’_ s the one who’s not normal.”

_Oliver is definitely not normal._

“No, but…still.”

Another minute passed before she spoke again. _What about Hannah Bailey?_

“What about her?”

_What does Oliver hear you thinking about her when you get all nervous when she reads?_ There was a definite teasing lilt in her mental voice. Cary couldn’t help smiling through the sudden warmth in his cheeks.

“Oh just…some stupid stuff…”

_Cary I can and will annoy you until you tell me_.

“Just, I don’t know, that I never want her to stop, that she sounds like, like, an angel don’t laugh!” The injunction lost most of its bite being that Cary had started laughing himself. It seemed absolutely silly to put into words, and not at all like something Oliver would say.

_So would you do that stuff with HER? The stuff, you know, Oliver talks about._

“No.” Cary shuddered a little. The thought seemed to splinter the romantic little picture he’d drawn of Hannah in his mind.

_What about kissing her? Do you want to kiss her?_

That Cary had to think about a little bit longer. “No. Maybe. It might be nice. But really, all I want is for her to smile at me. And, maybe, read me her school essays all day long.”

_That is sickening, but cute. But it still doesn’t answer the Oliver question_.

“I guess not.” They’d arrived home. Cary had unconsciously headed for the backyard to build, but seeing the radio transmitter there made him back up to sit against the house, biting his lip and staring.

_Do you want to kiss HIM?_

“No.” The thought made him feel funny. He forced himself to sit with it, to figure it out. “No. I don’t. But I would like…to _hug_ him. To, to hold him. To huddle up to him and read together, just to…to be close.”

_But no kissing?_

“No.”

_What about the other stuff?_

Cary winced. “NO.” He rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. “But what does that mean? When he was talking about taking Moira Johansson up to the observatory tower and… I just got… I _was_ jealous. He was right. I …I _still_ feel jealous just thinking... just knowing they might….”

_So you wish he was taking you there, instead?_

He snapped his fingers. “ _Us_. The three of us, like we used to. Just stargazing and talking and being together, none of…none of the rest.” He sighed. “But it seems so silly. Why am I so jealous if I _don’t…like_ him, that way?”

“Welllll,” Kerry slipped out to sit beside him, “because he’s OUR Oliver.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” But it did. It wasn’t _sensible_ , maybe, but it was true.

* * *

But the next morning, Cary left for school again without waiting for Oliver. “I’m…I’m still not ready,” he admitted when Kerry called him out.

_But you GOT it figured OUT, didn’t you?_ She couldn’t grit her teeth, being that they were Cary’s teeth at the moment, but she _thought_ the concept of teeth-gritting deeply into the words.

“That’s not the same thing as wanting to talk about it.”

_That’s stupid._

“That’s too bad. Because I am not talking until I’m ready.”

He wasn’t ready by homeroom, and he wasn’t ready by fourth-period calculus. At lunchtime he went straight to the shop wing, sat down in the electronics lab, and ate a sandwich with one hand while sorting through a box of transistors with the other.

_You’re just trying to avoid Oliver in the cafeteria, aren’t you._

He didn’t answer, so she shrugged him off and spun out the door and stomped to the cafeteria, where she accosted Oliver in the buffet line. “Cary’s eating lunch in the electrical shop do you wanna come,” she snapped.

Oliver raised one eyebrow delicately. “Does he want me there?”

Kerry sighed. “No, but—”

“Then I won’t push it. You shouldn’t, either. When he’s ready, he knows where to find me.” Some girl from one of Oliver’s non-Cary classes took him by the arm then and steered him toward a table full of a bunch of other girls.

_Ugh._ Kerry stomped back to the shop wing.

Cary didn’t get any more cooperative as the day went on, and Kerry was too annoyed to tune out, so all she could do was sit and wait—for school to end, for Cary to dodge Oliver yet again on the way home, for them to reach their bedroom only for Cary to curl up with a book and ignore her.

“I’m going for a run,” Kerry announced. That was the surest way to keep Cary away for awhile. And it was true—she _did_ run—but she had a destination to run to. She’d rarely been so far from Cary, and the air felt cold and too big the farther she ran, but she persevered. This was too important not to.

“Hello, Mrs. Bird, can Oliver come out and play?” As much as she swore she was not only ten, being ten came most naturally.

Mrs. Bird’s mouth twitched as she said, “I’ll see if I can find him, love.” Kerry could hear her voice, somewhere back in the house, “that little one, your Cary’s—” _His_ Cary’s? Such a funny thing to say, considering.

“Kerry?” Oliver’s eyes darted past her to the porch, then the walk, then the road beyond.

“I came by myself,” she said. “Because I _miss_ you.”

“Are you implying that Cary doesn’t?”

“Of course he does! I think. I’m sure he does. He’s just…stubborn. And scared.”

“But, _why?_ ” Oliver pushed out through the door. “Why is this an issue? We’re already— we shared our deepest darkest secrets within fifteen minutes of _meeting_! I’m not going to let a little sexual awkwardness jeopardize our friendship!”

That was it. _That_ was the disconnect. She put her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “It doesn’t always have to be about sex!”

“Well, that’s my point! I don’t _care_ who he wants to bone, he’s—”

“He doesn’t want to bone _anybody_. Also, that sounds gross.”

“Sorry.” He sat on the steps and sighed. “I just want him to be honest with me.”

Kerry sat beside him. “He wasn’t lying. He was just confused. But we’re pretty sure he isn’t jealous because he wants to be boyfriends. He’s jealous because he’s afraid you’re replacing him with a girlfriend.”

Oliver squinted pensively across the street. “He’s my best friend. That won’t ever change.”

“It sometimes does.” Kerry shrugged. “He was my best friend first.”

Oliver glanced sideways at her and hmphed. “And it’s not really fair. I have more of a right to be jealous if it comes to that. He’s already got his own intimate relationship I could never hope to aspire to.”

“What?” Kerry made a face.

Oliver rolled his eyes. “ _You_.”

“Ew, we’re not—”

“You are closer than any two people can possibly _be_ without being conjoined at the brain. No one can compete with that! As you said, it doesn’t have to be about sex.”

Kerry thought, and then chuckled softly. “A few weeks back we went to our aunt’s wedding and the guy at the front was all, ‘Here today two become one!’ and I said to Cary, _that’s not even how it works_ , and he just said most people aren’t as lucky as we are.” Oliver chuckled too. “I wonder if all that body-banging you people do is just trying to do what we do naturally, and getting it super wrong?”

“Well there’s more to it than—” Oliver caught himself. “Never mind. The important question, lucky ducky, is how are we going to convince _our_ best friend that he can be open with us about his needs?”

“I don’t know about _us_ , he already talks to _me_ just fine.”

“You see? Who has more right to jealousy here?”

Kerry curled her arms around her knees and watched him for a minute, piecing it together. “I think your problem is? You don’t listen. You—”

“ _I_ don’t li—”

“See? You didn’t even wait for me to finish! You think you already know everything and try to put words in other people’s mouths.”

“I—I’m a bloody _telepath!_ I can’t _not_ listen! That’s my _problem!”_

Kerry peered hard at him. “Yeah, I think it is.”

“What?”

“You’re always trying to block all The Voices out, and talking too much to cover up the noise—”

“Well, I admit I—”

“So when people are _trying_ to tell you something, you’ve already blocked _them_ out, too!”

Oliver was, for a moment, silent. “Say what?”

“If you’d stop and listen to what people’re _trying_ to say—if you make it about _them_ instead of you—maybe you’ll get better at focusing the psychic stuff, too.”

“I don’t think it works that—” He paused. “Oh. But I see your point.”

“So I say you come on back with me and just… _sit_ with Cary, quiet. Let him know you’re really going to hear him. _No interrupting_.” She hugged her knees in and rocked a little. “Then we can all get back to normal.”

* * *

“Oliver is coming over.” Kerry burst into the room and dove immediately into Cary. There was a bit of a shock as her elevated respiration and heart rate and a bit of outdoor cold absorbed into his system—or was it what she said?

“Oliver? Here?”

_Yeah. You’ve figured out how you feel, haven’t you?_

“I guess so, but—”

_Plan it out in your head! Pick the words you’re gonna use now and it’ll be easier when he gets here!_

“But what if he doesn’t want to talk? What if he doesn’t understand? What if he laughs—”

_Cary, cut it out! He is coming here to TALK to you. He expects it. He wants you to tell him!_

Down the hall, Mama laughed. The deep, musical voice that answered her could belong to only one person. Cary cursed softly and started rooting for words in his head.

A minute later, Oliver rapped on the doorframe. “Hello.” He smiled, but in a sad way, and seemed to Cary unusually small.

“Uh, hi,” Cary replied.

There was a pause. _Well, it’s a start_ , said Kerry.

Oliver took a step inside the door and cleared his throat. “Girl-Kerry says you have something to tell me?”

“Do I?!” _YES. You DO._ “I know, I just need to—to…” He watched Oliver warily.

Oliver opened his mouth, then shut it again. He bit his lip, smiled hopefully, seeming to be doing everything in his power to hold back a flood of words. His eyes tried to speak for him, and finally Cary realized he was trying to say _I’m listening_ without actually saying it. He was determined to wait for _Cary_ to speak.

Cary stood with his hands folded in front of him, feeling a bit as if he was reciting in front of the class. He took a deep breath. “Here is the complete truth: I love you, Oliver, and I want us to be best friends forever. No more, no—no less.” His knees gave out and he sat down hard on the edge of the bed, face buried in his hands.

Oliver sat beside him. He rested one hand on his knee and the other on his shoulder and looked at him forcefully enough that Cary’s head turned almost instinctively to look into his eyes. Oliver’s eyes seemed inexplicably wet. “We will be,” he whispered.

After a moment he added, in his normal voice, “But that doesn’t preclude me shagging Moira Johansson, if she wants.”

Cary burst out laughing. The released tension propelled him onto his back. “And that doesn’t necessitate me hearing about it, either!”

“That was the problem all along, wasn’t it?” Oliver shook his head. “Me talking too much as usual?”

“It was _my_ problem.” Kerry sat up and punched him—gently—for her—in the gut.

“Oh, hush up, you’re ten.”

Kerry tackled Oliver, then dragged her brother into her hold until she had them both pinned. “Do you both promise never to get all weird again?”

The boys glanced at each other and sputtered into laughter. “You might need to rephrase that,” Cary said.

“I’m not the sort of telepath who can see the future,” Oliver said slowly. “At least I don’t think I am. Yet. But I am absolutely certain, no matter who _else_ may join our happy family someday, for whatever purpose: the three of _us_ are bonded for life.”

“Our…happy family?” Cary smiled. “That’s just…that’s just right.”


End file.
